Phoenix
by fiftyshadesofdevingray
Summary: 5 years after the Harmons fled murder house, 5 years after one heated night, Violet Harmon returns to the murder house but she isn't alone. 3 shot
1. Chapter 1

**"Phoenix"**

**Summary: 5 years after the Harmons fled murder house, 5 years after one heated night, Violet Harmon returns to the murder house but she isn't alone.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story, or Earth Angel.**

**A/N: This idea came to me sort of after Leah's talk with Violet about Tate being a fallen angel. This was written before I knew Tate was Rubberman.**

**I**

Violet Harmon, now twenty-two years of age stood in front of her former home. She hadn't been there in five years, not since her mother got pregnant, lost her mind and the house finally sold. It looked the same, the same high roof and pale red brick. It probably still had the same Tiffany glass inside, the same glass that matched Nora Montgomery's eyes. Another for sale sign sits in the front yard, such a shame the house had been abandoned; Violet saw for what it really was, beautiful and so full of history.

A tiny hand squirms in hers, Violet looks down at the little girl; she is beautiful and so full of light. Thick blonde curls surround her face like a halo, around her sweet cherubic face. Teenage motherhood definitely was never on her list, but neither was falling in love; Phoenix she thought had to be some sort of consolation prize.

"Mommy," her voice is innocent, "why are we here?"

Violet looks down at the little girl; Phoenix's eyes, her father's eyes burn a hole into her soul. "Phi, this is Mommy's old house, I thought since we are back here I would show it to you." She tells her gently.

Phi smiles, god she has his smile and it makes Violet's chest tighten but not as much as her next question. "Is this where you met my Daddy?" she asks, hopefully.

Violet's lips twitch. "You could say that," she breathes.

"Mommy," the little girl rocked back and forth on her chucks. "If he's dead, then why are we here?"

Violet gnawed on her lip. "This is our new house," she explained, softly.

**II**

Phoenix wasn't exactly sure how she felt about moving across the country from her family, her family was in Boston. Not that is was much of a family, her grandparents were divorced after what her mother said was another tragedy. Apparently she would have had an aunt or uncle, but not anymore. Her mother moved them out there, they lived off money that had been left to her mother after her grandfather's passing. In reality all Phoenix knew at the age of five was her mother had to get away.

Phoenix sat on the front steps of the house, it was final weeks of summer before she would start a new school. Kindergarten, something new for the girl who was just out of preschool, it seemed daunting, if an adult were to explain it, but she didn't know how. To put in the words of a five year old, she was scared. She would much rather sit at home and read books, not talking to anybody.

A picture book sat in her lap, she flipped through it slowly taking in every detail. "What are you reading?" A low southern accent, asks slowly.

Phoenix looks up to see an elderly woman, she looks like somebody you would expect your grandmother to look like. She was thin, and elegant looking, her white hair pulled back into a neat bun. She held a smile, one that Phoenix found far too sweet.

Phoenix bit her lip. "It's about birds," she explains, quietly. Something about the woman made her feel uncomfortable, she wanted to pack up her book and haul her butt back inside, but something stopped her.

The woman reached her hand out and stroked her face. "What's your name dear?" she asks, politely. "I am your neighbor Constance, since you're probably not supposed to talk to strangers."

Phoenix looked down at her chuck. "Phoenix Harmon," she introduced, as she quietly looked back up at her book.

Constance trips back a little, her elegant features in a state of shock. Phoenix can't help but examine them for a moment, although older and more wrinkled they are similar to her own. A smile then spreads across Constance's face, "So pretty," she muses, running her hand through Phoenix's hair. "You remind me of my son, finally a sweet child in the house."

"Phi, come inside," her mother called.

**III**

Her mother had put her to bed hours ago, but she didn't feel like sleeping. Phoenix had slipped out of bed and crept down the stairs, down more stairs until she made it to the basement. Dark, dingy with an odd pungent odor, luckily she had slipped some shoes on before venturing down there. She is scared, but she wouldn't admit that.

It seems there would be a lot of space to run and hide, not that she had many friends. She had just moved there, not that she had many friends back in Boston. She walked towards the back of the basement, but felt two hands grab her and pull her backwards. Phoenix quickly recoiled and drove her tiny fist into the person's knee.

"Woah, there," a male's voice exclaims, "don't be scared."

Phoenix follows the trail of the person's body, from tip of converse sneakers very similar to her own, up a lean denim clad leg to meet another face very similar to her own. A boy stood in front of her, he wore a frayed yellow sweater and had blonde curls that flew in every which way, also like her own.

Phoenix backed up uneasily. "Wh-who are you?" she whispers, "why are you in my basement."

The boy gets on his knees, now eye level. "I am Tate," he introduces with a slight smile. "I live in the neighborhood, you shouldn't be down here."

Phoenix backs away farther, "I am Phoenix Harmon," she mumbles.

Tate's eyes widen. "Harmon?" he gasps, "what's your mother's name?"

"Violet," she muses, she feels calmer at the fact he knows her mother.

Tate reaches out for her hand, "Come upstairs, it's not safe for you down here," he says softly.

Phoenix grabs a hold of his hand, she doesn't know why but she feels his presence is soothing. She takes his hand hesitantly, it's warm and calloused. Tate pulls her forward slowly back towards the stairs. Tate lets her go ahead of him, a low growl hums from the bottom of the stairs, she backs away slowly. 

"What was that?" she whines.

"The darkness," Tate gets on his knees, touching his hand to Phoenix's shoulders. "Don't worry, I won't let it hurt you."

**III**

Violet finds him, she had been looking for him, and there she finds him in the doorway of Phoenix's bedroom, her old bedroom. He looks the same as always, she feels the same as she always did when she saw him; weak knees, racing heart, sweaty palms. She ignores it to stand next to him, both gazing intently at the small girl.

Tate is the first to speak, "Is she-"

"Yes," she breathes, "she is yours."

Tate turns his head to her slightly, an unfamiliar twinkle in his eyes. "That night?" he presses gently.

"That night."

Tate turns to Violet completely, he strokes her cheek sending an electric shock through her system. " I am sorry, I didn't think I-"

Violet shrugs, "I didn't think so either," she sighs, "or I would have pressed the matter of protection more."

Tate smirks, "Can I press the matter of her name?" he cracks, "Phoenix, really?"

Violet grabs his hands and gives them a good squeeze, "A Phoenix represents new start, they rise from their ashes."

"She doesn't look like you," he points, a tad disappointed.

"Nope."

"Is she-"

Violet turns to stare at the girl for a moment, then turns back to Tate's waiting eyes, "No, she is beautiful, kind, caring, she likes to read and keep to herself, but she's still stubborn nonetheless."

"Wow," he sighs, "so she doesn't have my _thoughts?"_

"Nope, she is your phoenix, your new start."

**A/N: I don't know, this came to me before Rubberman, so he isn't Rubberman in this fic.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Phoenix.**

**A/N: I am really shocked at what a positive feedback this story got. But here is part 2.**

** Chapter 2**

**I**

Phoenix is ten when she finally realizes that there is something off about Tate Langdon. She is sitting in her living room with him while her Mom is at work. He usually sits and watches her in the evenings when her mother takes her much needed break from parenthood and the general eeriness of the house. It seems to be the only thing that keeps her sane, Phoenix doesn't mind though. She finds something intriguing and mysterious about Tate Langdon, and enjoys the investigation when they are alone together.

No, it's not a school girl crush that she is feeling for an older neighborhood boy next door. That feels wrong for some reason, he feels closer to a brother except not really. Protective, caring, a source of entertainment but at times they were on edge with each other. Strange similarities during the oddest moments, mannerisms, speaking, nervous habits; it was almost as if Phoenix knew her his whole life. There was just one thing about him that she couldn't figure out.

Phoenix sits on the floor a book as usual sitting in front of her, Tate sits across from her his leg clad in ratty old jeans over the other. He has a book tucked in his lap; that's how they often spent their evenings together in the quiet with nothing but their words playing in their minds. Tate's eyes don't wander from his book, so Phoenix takes this as her chance.

She stands up slowly, forgetting about her book and walks slowly across the room to where Tate sits. Phoenix grabs his foot and pulls it so that it smalls the floor, Tate's eyes go upwards looking directly at her, they aren't angry but just as curious as hers. He sets the book down on the table next to them, allowing her to climb onto his lap.

Phoenix runs her hand over his cheek, it's smooth, soft, but with the familiar roughness of somebody who has just shaven. " Tate," she sighs, "can I ask you a question?"

Tate smirks. "Depends, " he chuckles, "how much trouble will I get into with your mother?"

Phoenix stared at him seriously. "Why haven't you gotten any older?" she asks, slowly. "Are you sick?"

Tate pulls Phoenix close to her chest, raking his fingers through her curls "You could say that," he murmurs, "let's just say, the darkness got to me."

**II**

Phoenix doesn't know what keeps bringing her back over to Constance's home, I mean she doesn't even know the woman's last name. It might just be the sweets and tea that the woman "forces " her to ingest. Or the stories that Constance tells her of her childhood and when her children were young. Mostly it's the just way she looks at her, it's as if every movement she makes is the most fascinating thing in the world. Her own grandparents don't even do that, she knows she is loved but it's hard sometimes

Constance puts a cupcake in front of her; yellow with chocolate frosting with a candied bird on top, her favorite. "Eat up, sweetie," she urges, sweetly.

Phoenix peels the wrapper, picks the candy off the top and pops it into her mouth. She then rips the top of the cupcake off, taking a small nibble. She looks up as she chews, waiting to swallow before she thanks Constance. But Constance isn't smiling, her lips are in a frown and her eyes hold a distant sadness.

Phoenix licks her lips. "What's the matter?" she asks, timidly.

Constance shakes her head, "It's nothing…it's you just you remind me of my son, "she sighs, longingly.

This isn't the first time she has heard this, but the more she never asks and the more she hears about this boy, the more she wants to know. "What happened to him?" Phoenix finally asks.

Constance stirs her tea, "I lost him, to other things," she sniffles, "seeing you, is like having another piece of him."

"Wh-what are you trying to say?" stutters Phoenix.

Constance holds her breath for a moment. "I am your-your Grandmother, darling," she admits, finally.

"Who-who is my Dad?"

Constance reaches her hand across the table. "That is another story for another day," she finalizes.

Phoenix places the top of the cupcake on the rose china, "Can you tell me about him?" she mumbles.

"Again, not my place to tell you, your Momma wouldn't be happy"

They remain silent for the rest of the visit.

**III**

Tate is standing in her doorway again; it seems to be a nightly habit of his, but he can't help it. He is infatuated by the little girl, but not in the way he is by her mother, it's different but still he feels the need to kill for the girl. He likes to watch her, just to watch. She looks like Violet when she sleeps, the way she twitches, the way she mumbles, the little sighs when she is content.

There is something off about her sleep pattern tonight, she is restless, whimpering, she kicks her blankets off her body. She is shaking, her limbs convulsing ever so slightly. Tate walks into the room, but as he gets to her bed her eyes shoot open and she starts screaming. In one quick motion Tate is sitting next to her.

Tate places a gentle hand on her arm. "Hey, Phi, it's okay, I am here," he whispers.

"Mommy," she moans; he knows it's serious because she rarely calls Violet that anymore. "Where is Mommy?" she cries

Tate frowns and slides down onto the bed, pulling the little girl against his side. "She's still at work," he explains gently, "it's okay, I am here."

Phoenix hesitantly relaxes into his side, "Is she coming back?" she mumbles, "I had a dream that she didn't come back and I was all alone."

Tate sucks in his breath, he used to have the same dreams but his became a reality. "Phoenix, why would you.."

"My Dad is dead Tate, he died in an accident and I am afraid-"

"She isn't going to die," Tate says quickly, the thought shaking him. "I wouldn't let that happen."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I am here to protect you two."

**A/N: That is just the middle, the last part should be out in a few days.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Okay, so I am so sorry for not updating. But my computer was under the weather, but here we are. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Phoenix.**

** Chapter 3**

**I**

Phoenix is fifteen when she finds out the truth about Tate Langdon, Constance passes away leaving Phoenix strangely broken, with a last name and an order to do research. She sits in her bedroom the hours following Constance's passing, her chest is on her fire and her body tired. For some reason she had grown an odd attachment to the woman, seeing so much of herself

She sits hunched over her desk, her knees pressed to her chest; hair greasy from the depression. She types frantically into the search engine. She types quickly; _Tate Langdon, Westfield Massacre. _Constance said he had been involved, had he been a victim? That made no sense; it had been over 20 years, why would he be trapped here?

But she remembers the stories she hears about this house, the hauntings. But still she has never believed in that crap, not for a second. She clicked the first link on the page, "_Westfield Shooter Dead." _ She clicks the link, the picture that she finds shocks her; Tate's senior picture, Tate's senior picture from 1994, Tate the murderer. Worse, Tate Langdon, her father.

She would have screamed, she would have cut herself ( a habit she had taken up in eighth grade when things seemed to close in.) But that would only bring Tate, he always seemed to come running when she cried.

**II**

"Mom, Mom, Mommy!"

Phoenix's cries fill the room; Tate shoots up and runs into the hall where he hears her. She is running down the hall like a crazy person, her blonde curls falling out of a messy bun; her chest heaving under her baggy striped sweater. She halts the moment she sees him, rocking back gently on the heels of her black boots.

Tate frowns; he tries to pull her into a hug, she looks in great need of comfort. "Phi, what's wrong?" he asks, gently.

Phoenix stumbles backwards, knocking into the crimson wall behind her. "Where's Mom?" she sobs, "I need Mom."

Tate grabs her shoulders to still her, she is scaring him. Acting frantic, he has been worried since the cocksucker passed away. Not the least bit depressed about her passing, but obvious effect that it has on Phoenix. The baggy clothing, the greasy hair, an obvious depression, something he himself went through on countless occasions. Tate pulls her sleeve up quickly, red, silver, coagulated lines ran all over her fair skin.

Tate runs his thumb over the cuts, "Why are you doing this?" he gasps, "You're killing yourself!"

Phoenix pulls her arm away quickly, "better than other people," she spits, with venom.

_She knows._ He spent years trying to protect her and she knows. Protect her from everything, illness, asshole kids, but mostly him and his dark past.

**III**

A week later she discovers the darkness within Tate on her down, not in a way that is directed towards her. She discovers a fiercer side to it, one that's far darker then he had let himself be around her. One that seems to be brought out at the hands of Dominic Rogers, big time jock, her history partner, and just another person interested in the mysterious "murder house."

Dominic was the usual all American looking boy, tussled brown hair, large green eyes, in other words the kind of boy that most girls swooned over, but Phoenix Harmon wasn't most girls. She found him vile, and the fact that she was forced to cohabitate with him made her want to off herself. For some reason that acted as an aphrodisiac to this strange boy, this boy who would soon learn his lesson.

They both stood in the basement one evening, while they were supposed to be working on some lame project about World War II, but Dominic's need to impress her kicked in. His need to show that he could endure the horrors of this basement took over, so did his other _needs._

Needs that Phoenix isn't willing to fulfill but that didn't stop a struggle from happening, she was standing there, not looking particularly alluring. Dominic turned and wrapped an arm gently around her shoulders, as if to say I survived.

Phoenix looks down at the arm around her, and tries to pull away, "What are you doing?" she snaps.

Dominic just pulls her closer, "This basement is a little strange, it has history," he moves closer, his words come out as hot air against her neck, "why don't we make some?"

Phoenix goes to pull away, she doesn't think words are needed to prove that she isn't interested, but she is proven wrong. His hands grip the sides of her open flannel shirt that exposes a black v-neck and pale skin which he feels the need to press his lips against. She shudders at the touch, it's hot , uncomfortable. She pulls away, her long limbs clumsy, as she falls backwards into a nearby cement wall.

She isn't quite sure what happens next, Dominic must have gotten a hold of her again because she is on the floor; her petite frame is pressed under his large athletic build. His lips pressed against the exposed skin of her neck, she attempted to struggled but he was too heavy.

Phoenix hadn't planned on what happened next. "Tate," she screamed, a sob escaping her throat, "please, Tate!"

Dominic's hand collided with the side of her face, but at just the wrong time. "Shut-" his voice broken, and the pressure pulled off Phoenix's slim hips.

There he stands up, Tate, his face completely different than she had ever seen it before. There was no boy like innocence etched into his features, but rage, blind psychotic rage. Dominic goes flying forward, his face smacking into the ground, his nose making a loud crack that made Phoenix shiver, right down to the core.

Tate turns quickly towards Phoenix; she can feel the heat coming out of his eyes. "Go upstairs, Phoenix," he growls. "Go up to your room and lock the door."

She is too terrified of this Tate to argue, too violated to try and help Dominic. Phoenix pulls her shirt tightly around her chest, running up the wooden steps. To terrified to look back.

**II**

Dominic leaves later with a broken nose, and mysterious claw marks dug into his face. Phoenix is left in her bedroom for the rest of the evening, occasionally exiting to scrub the slime she feels on her body. At the way to another visit to the bathroom, she hears her mother and Tate speaking in hushed tones.

She makes her way over to the frame of her mother's bedroom door, they both lay on the bed fully clothes. Her mother's head is resting on Tate's chest, his arms wrapped loosely around Violet's shoulders. In a way you wouldn't expect a mass murderer to hold somebody, like glass.

"You said you would protect her from the darkness," she whispers.

"Sometimes you have to let the darkness protect you."

_**Fin**_


	4. AN: Prequel!

**A/N: I posted a prequel to Phoenix. It's called Northern Downpour!**


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